Perfect as Expected
by goldleaves
Summary: She did everything that she was supposed to do, but that didn't help her with finding out exactly why she was chosen. Why her out of all the other pureblood women of their age? -The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition [Round 4 - The Wigton Wanderers - KEEPER RESERVE]


**A/N:** This is an entry for The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, and I'm submitting this as the reserve for the Keeper of the Wigton Wandererss; who has been busy because of real life commitments and so unable to write this round [Round 4]

Pairing: **Narcissa Black/Lucius Malfoy**

Prompt(s):

**Marauders' Era**

Word Count:** 1,837**

* * *

She could feel the soft rich texture of the parchment under her finger, that added to the slight scent of lavender that it carried was enough to tell of its high quality and its opulent user. Written in resplendent deep green ink the long flowing letters that formed words, which seemed almost as if to dance across the surface of the parchment under the flickering light of the enchanted candle on Narcissas' side table. Looking at it with a twinge of frustration she noted that it was getting perilously low, and that she'd soon have to acquire more. Absently she wondered if she could beg her mother if she would send her some; somehow the ones that her mother always bought just had the right smell to them when they burned, a sweet and light smell that made all her headaches and worries disappear. Perhaps why she had used so much of the stock she had bought with her at the beginning of the year, trying to finish her homework in the mid of night when there was no one to distract her and no one to fawn over her excellent luck.

Ever since her return to Hogwarts that September, for her seventh and final year at the so called prestigious school of witchcraft and wizardry, she had been followed by the envious eyes of many. They tried to find fault with her appearance, though soon enough even they couldn't find one. She wasn't skinny to the point of looking impoverished or starved, but neither did she look as stuffed and as abundantly fed, if she was to be polite, as some other witches; most notably those of Hufflepuff House. Though she supposed that it was because their common room, wherever it was, was closer to the kitchens.

Her hair was long and a pale blonde that stood out from the dark tresses of her oldest sister Bellatrix, and even dearest Andromeda; though she supposed since her recent wedding to that muggleborn Tonks she really couldn't call her a sister any more. Her features were not overly defined as to make her face look crowded, and she didn't have one particular feature that gathered more attention than the rest. Like all of her family she had the same pale flawless complexion that marked them as purebloods instead of being filthy halfbreeds. True her eyes were blue, a not uncommon colour; they weren't the dazzling sapphire that one of the Greengrass girls in her fifth year had, but still she thought they were a quite pretty shade of grey-blue. Not that outstanding, but nothing to be scoffed at either.

After trying on her appearance, they attacked her family; most notably Andromedas disgrace, and oh how she has hurt to say that she had no sister of such name; how it hurt to do what she was expected to do and fulfil the role of the perfect pureblood daughter. Then they tried her friends, and how she had had to bark down the most inappropriate bark of laughter at that point. What friends did she have? What friends did anyone in Slytherin have? To trust? To confide in? To do such a thing would be social suicide. She'd be practically turning her back on her enemies, painting a target onto her back and giving them the knife to stab her with. No, she had no friends. She had acquaintances, and even they were of the highest repute.

Left with nothing to attack, instead they followed her around with their envious eyes, always looking for a chink her in perfectly polished armour to stab her with a barbed word, a sword of maliciousness and hate. All because of him. Lucius Malfoy. She didn't know what to think of the Malfoy heir. He was distant, though that was to be expected; they were purebloods, they didn't court in the obvious sickening and disgraceful way that the muggleborns did. She had noticed him of course, how could she not. The heir of the famous, powerful and rich Malfoy house was only a year older than her.

She could remember her sorting, sitting on that stool, knowing where she was going already. She was a Black, and by Morgana's breath, all Black's were placed in Slytherin. Or so they had thought, her cousin Sirius had of course changed that only two years ago. Despite knowing of the certainty of her placement she had been nervous sitting in front of the whole school, seeing so many intent faces staring at her. Being the youngest she wasn't used to such attention, that was given to Bellatrix, and Andromeda; when she was still her sister, the accomplished girls who she had to emulate, but that didn't mean that she had to let any of them know what she was feeling, she wouldn't give them that power.

So, looking outwardly calm and collected and perfect, and inwardly wishing they would all turn away and stare at someone else, anyone else, she couldn't help but let her eyes search over the crowd staring back at her. Sat in Slytherin, cool and confident and so bright that she wondered how no one around him was blinded by him, was Lucius Malfoy.

Her future husband.

Of course she hadn't known that then, hadn't dreamt of it either. During the following six years that they both spent at Hogwarts, she had talked to him of course. Interacted with him, and paid her respects when his mother had died during her fourth year, as she was expected to. Up to that point, she didn't think that he noticed her at all, merely seeing her as just another young pureblood witch that would have been trying to entangle him in marriage and secure the title of Lady Malfoy for herself if she had been just a year older. At only 15, it was considered crass to even talk about marriage agreements, presumptuous and uncouth. And Blacks were never uncouth.

She had meant every word of her condolences, even though she said nothing but what was required of her by polite society. She wondered if he could sense that, if that was why he had looked at her properly in a way that he hadn't to the others who had already crowded around him, if that was why he let her seen the faint rings of red around his eyes that hinted that his perfect composure wasn't so perfect. Until that point, she had never seen a pureblood so broken and open with their emotions, but despite the red around his eyes, his voice was steady when he thanked her for her condolences and kissed her hand softly. She had nodded her head in return and had left him to his business; it wouldn't have been proper to stay longer.

She had never forgotten that moment, of the softness of his lips on her hand that he held so delicately in one of his, and his devastated but composed face, so achingly beautiful. She had tried to capture it, but had failed. Even her accomplished drawing skills couldn't capture so raw and rare, but that didn't stop her from trying many times. While she had never forgotten, it seemed to him that it didn't matter, he hardly noticed her after the incident than he had before. If she had felt eyes on her back as she had studied in the common room or Library, or as she had sketched in the great hall, than she had passed it off as her own imagination. She had thought that she had been once again placed in the realms of the masses of marriageable purebloods but when in the summer between her sixth year and her seventh, the summer after his graduation, his proposal was sent to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black for her hand.

To say she had been startled to see her normally so composed and proper mother waking her up in the early hours of the morning, more distressed than she had ever even thought possible for her mother to be, and it had been explained to her that Lucius Malfoy, heir to the great Malfoy estate had asked for her hand in marriage, and wisely her father had agreed. Of course her father had agreed, what pureblood wouldn't have? And she so on August the 4th, she had been woken early to the announcement that she was to become the Lady Malfoy. The wife of a man she knew very little of, and to one day bear his children, and heirs like the dutiful pureblood wife she would most certainly become.

Apart from that letter, and short notes between the two that held the usual polite sentences that were expected of them she hadn't spoken to her betrothed, and hardly knew anything about him still. She knew that he wasn't a fan of Puddlemore United, but everyone with a brain could have figured that out from spending six years at the same school as him, and she knew that he, like his father, and like her own family; were firm supporters of the rising pureblood movement, headed by the Dark Lord. She wasn't enchanted with the man, like Bellatrix was, but his words were good and worth following. His ideals something she believed him. Wasn't it obvious, the way they were so much better than the muggleborns and the halfbreeds. The only reason she desisted from saying that other word was that it was so vulgar and rude, no proper pureblood maiden would be caught dead saying such foul language, though she privately agreed that the term was accurate.

So many months since their betrothal, all of those tiny meaningless letters sent between them, and suddenly when she was studying her Transfiguration work, his owl had flown in, gracefully depositing the scroll of parchement before heading outside during the early winter storm to find shelter in the Owlery from the snow and the cold. She had stood with confusion, grabbing the scroll and closing the window quickly before a gust could send all her work across the room. It was his owl, that was sure, but he had never sent her such a scroll before. She had wondered what it contained, but had placed it under her pillow as her room-mates had entered the dormitory.

Eventually, with all her work done and her the other girls asleep she had pulled out the scrolled and untied the green ribbon from around it, and read the beautiful script.

Coming to the end of the letter she couldn't help but smile a little, trace her fingers across his elegant name and tie her hair back with the ribbon. She'd read the letter again in the morning, but until then it would lie protected under her pillow, its words already memorised onto her heart. Carefully she blew the candle out and closed her curtains, the dark wasn't so bad anymore know that she knew that she had such a brilliant light at her call.


End file.
